Passions Fire Still Burns
by smartywitchMione
Summary: Sequel to Passion Like Fire, we join Hermione five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, where the once thought dead Snatcher is found to be alive, a warrant on his head for capture. Is there anything Hermione can do? And will these two really have a happily ever after?
1. Chapter 1

It had been almost five years since the end of the war, five years since the battle that had stolen too many lives and left others in shambles and pieces to be picked up before any could move on. None would ever forget, but wounds healed, mostly. There was still gaping maws of pain within all of them, but as time went on, it was easier to conceal it. Live life as if it wasn't inside.

As Hermione and Harry sat side by side listening to the plan for the next day, the first celebration of the victory since the war had been won, Hermione couldn't help but wonder when their appearances would no longer be necessary. After all the functions they had attended, all the public appearances, as if they were solely responsible for the war being won. She was grateful that Neville was included in all of these, it was only fair, and they had been on their last stand when he had severed Naginis head. Had it not been for that, Harry may not have overpowered the Dark Lord.

Details of the parade that would travel up and down Diagon Alley and where they would be positioned floated through her mind with little interest. And it would all culminate in a grand party being held in the now re-established Great Hall of Hogwarts. It would be a day of bittersweet feelings, none were that healed not to recall all that had happened. And though they could all live in peace, it didn't mean that everyone was unscathed. Hermione herself would excuse herself for a while to go to the rebuilt bridge, to pay remembrance to the man she had loved so deeply.

The conversation drew to a close and the Golden Trio filed out of the room, Hermione was still lost in her thoughts as Harry and Ron tried to engage her in conversation, only receiving non-committal in return.

"Well, I think the Dragon Sacrifice will be a crowd pleaser." Harry commented, using the only thing he could think of to draw Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Yes I'm sure it… I beg your pardon? They are going to do what to Dragons? That's barbaric!" She exclaimed, stopping midstride, about to turn and go and give the event organiser a large piece of her mind.

"Welcome back Hermione. Nice of you to join us." Harry laughed, as Ron closed his arm around her waist to draw her forward into walking again.

"That was unnecessary Harry." She chided.

"No it wasn't." He continued to laugh.

Dawn crested on the horizon, bringing to life a new day, the day of the parade. Hermione had lain awake all night, as she always did the night before the Memorial Day came. Ron slept peacefully by her side, one arm up and over his face, the bed sheets strewn down across his chest. With a deep sigh, Hermione on just resisted the urge to thump him. How could he slept like this? All night without a murmur or a groan at what the coming day was going to bring? And she knew when he got up, he would eat like he had been starved his entire life. It wouldn't be until later that he would show even the remotest sign that this was stressful for him. But then, he wouldn't be Ron Weasley if he didn't eat and sleep like nothing ever bothered him.

Deep down, Hermione knew she shouldn't be so hard on him, he was slowly and patiently piecing together her fractured heart, understanding, on the only level that he could, that she hadn't been able to continue of the fast paced route they had started out on. And that he had waited a couple of years, before placing his claim on her, by placing the ring on her finger. Admittedly, he didn't know the extent of what had gone on, he had pieced some bits together, figuring it out in the only way his mind had been able and sadly, Hermione hadn't corrected him, not really. There was the diary she had given him, which she had written about her time in the Snatchers camp, but he had never read it. The seal charm she had placed on it had never been broken. He was content with what he thought he knew and Hermione didn't want to break that for him.

Pushing herself out of bed, Hermione started her day, the same old routine, wash, brush teeth, wake Ron, calm her mane, dress, wake Ron again, make breakfast and wake Ron for the final time. Truthfully, she should be happy that her life was normal, simple. The same old routine. That was how she had always imagined it. The younger Hermione would have been thrilled at it, a job where she was doing what she was passionate about, a fiancée that she could take care of. Only life had shown her something else, let her fall for someone else that she would never truly be over.

"Come on Ronald, we'll be late."  
"Alright, alright, keep your hair on Mione." He grumbled, while grabbing his wand.

With a floo journey, they were there, at the meeting point for the day's events to begin.

It had been long day and the Golden Trio had all spent it with smiles on their faces, having heart felt talks with all that wanted them. But it was a day that took a lot out of them. None of them were flippant of what had happened, nor did they want the greatness that was accomplished to be demeaned in anyway, but they all still held their own personal scars of what had happened, that they could not and did not want to share with the world and his missus. So when they were seated in carriage for the final parade, they all took a collective breath.

There was just the ride through the streets and then they were off to Hogwarts, for more bittersweet memories. As they travelled through the streets of Diagon Alley, people and faces were all a blur to Hermione, she had long passed her threshold for this kind of thing. As she watched the world pass by distractedly, the same smile plastered onto her face that she had used for the last five years.

Sitting up straight, her eyes pinned on a face she never thought she would see again. Her mouth dropped openly slightly, before she recovered enough to call for the carriage to stop. Jumping down from it before it had come to a full stop and stumbling slightly. Then she was taking off in the direction that she had seen him. The calls from Harry and Ron behind her weren't really heard, she was completely focussed on finding him.

Running down the alley, her breathing hard and laboured as she pushed herself for more speed, he was fast, he always had been. But as the alley led onto another street, she stopped, her eyes searching everywhere, barely hearing the sound of footsteps thundering up behind her.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice protruded into her consciousness.

"I saw him Harry. I saw him, I know I did." She muttered quietly, her eyes still searching the street in front of her.

"Him, him?" He pushed. She could only nod.  
"Mione…" He began.

"I know Harry, but he looked so real. I suppose it was just a fantasy. Something I wanted to see." That ever present ache in her heart began to swell once again, moving towards the crushing ache it really was when she let herself feel the pain. The sting of tears present in her eyes as she finally blinked, finally tore her eyes away from the street, from anywhere that he might emerge from. "It's even possible he is ghost." She choked out.

"Come on Mione, let's get this over with. We can talk about it later."

As they finally made it to their final destination, the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the abundance of noise was deafening. Those their sharing their stories of May 2nd. Of the final battle. Many regaled their stories with grandeur and flamboyance, while other spoke reverently, fully aware of the tender situation they spoke of.

Midway through the evening, Hermione slipped away from the party, heading out the same spot she had visited for the last few years, the only place she could feel a connection to him, it was the last place he had been. And though she was grateful for what Neville did, a part of her hated him for trapping her Snatcher that way. For leading him to his death. Wrapping the light shawl tighter around her shoulders, she stared out into the darkness and let the withheld tears flow. Grieving once again for a loss she would never truly accept, never truly recover from.

After regaining her composure, she wiped the track marks off her face and then moved back inside, to re-join the happy crowd and play her part in it.

From within the darkness, piercing blue eyes stared at the feminine figure on the bridge, open fingered gloved hands toying with the tasselled ends of a pink scarf. What he had witnessed confused him, there had been tears shimmering in the darkness, tears of grief, at something that happened at the bridge. Could it be the young witch grieved for him? The man that took her innocence? Held her captive and handed her over to the other side? Could she really still care enough after the last time they had seen each other, since he had handed her over the Lestrange witch?

"Interesting. Very interesting."


	2. Chapter 2

**Finally an update. I have been having a hard time with this one, I started it about four times, until I found something I could a little more than a couple of lines. So my deepest apologies. Thank you to those that reviewed. They really brighten my day and keep me thinking about this pair and how to move them forward. **

Two weeks had passed since the celebrations, two weeks of obsessing over whether Hermione had really seen the Snatcher, or if she had only wished she had. Hermione had always been the kind of girl that liked structure, liked things in order and place. And yet, when her world had been in the most tumultuous, when everything was upside down and she couldn't see the way out, the most unlikely person had come along and offered her a way out. In a manner of speaking. Idly she wondered what would have become of the wizarding world had she accepted the offer in the Snatchers eyes, that day in the forest. Had she let him take her away from it all and never looked back. Though she knew her talents, she wasn't conceited enough to think that it was only her that had lead Harry to the point of being able to destroy the Dark Lord.

The last two weeks had been so hard, she had relived every moment, every nuance, of all their time together. Her logical mind told her that if he was in fact dead, then she was opening wounds for no reason and pushing away the man that still wanted her. Damaged or not. But what if he was alive? Why hadn't he come for her? Why had he stayed away? All of it riled her up. Left her livid with someone who may or may not be alive. To say that she had been a potluck of emotions was an understatement. Some moments, the simplest things would cause her to break down into tears, other times, she would snap and figuratively bite anyone's head off. The latter leaving her in Kinglseys office, being questioned on just why she was behaving the way she was. That had been an embarrassing conversation.

After confiding the true … relationship… between her and the Snatcher to the Minister of Magic was she made privy to a new initiative. To bring all the remaining followers of the Dark Lord, even down the very least involved, to justice. A heated conversation had followed, where Hermione found that the man she loved was indeed still alive and hiding out in the Forest of Dean.

All this led her to being in that same forest. Searching, waiting for a glimpse. A chance. She wandered aimlessly, miles out into the forest where no one would see her, except those that were looking of course. She had given up a lot to be here and Merlin be damned, she was going to find that Snatcher.

Scabior had played it close the day of the celebration, he had only wanted a glimpse, to make sure that the girl was doing well. That she was making a good life for herself. A curse on his blackened heart for still caring. She had chosen the Potter boy over him and as punishment, he had handed her over to the Death Eaters. That was what he wanted to believe. He wanted to believe that it was her fault. And not his own, not some failing on his part that he had left her there. At least she lived. He told himself constantly. His own reconciliation. The only way he could come to terms with the fact of what he had done. He told himself he loved her, that she would always be his and yet he had handed her over like scraps to the dogs. It was her choice all along.

But having seen her on the bridge that night, he couldn't remove the image of the silver tracks down her cheeks, at the place where he was meant to have died. None of her lot had died there, so why would she cry there, of all places? He had stayed away from any kind of population, placed a dissuading charm around his own camp, to keep any and all away from his makeshift home. She was better off without him. ~But the tears…~ His mind conjured again. It tugged at some unknown part of himself. He had always been a selfish man, but for once he would do the right thing. By her at least. This time.

With a growl his thoughts were broken, feeling someone pressing against his charms, whoever it was, was damn stubborn. Each time he felt it wane, it was back. His cobalt blue eyes narrowed, it could only be someone of the magical persuasion. Muggles would feel an ominous feeling that would make them back away and find another route. His fingers drummed on the roughhewn table, his patience growing thin. In his mind, it was more Aurors, trying to best him. They seemed to enjoy it somehow, almost like he was a rite of passage. Even he wasn't stupid enough to not notice that there were more and more visits from them. Pushing himself away from the table, the legs of the chair digging into the soft ground, he moved out of his tent home, striding into the forest. As he neared the charm barrier, he climbed into a tree, to get a better look at who was persistent enough to keep trying to breach his charms. And if needs must, get a better drop on them. Pun intended. His hands tightened on the branch above his head as he laid eyes on Hermione.

An almost guttural groan escaped the young witch as she once again tried to push herself to walk through the charm, she was determined. She knew that whoever was in there would feel her continuous tries, as clever as she was, she had figured out the reason behind her seeing this part of the forest darker, like the area that shouldn't be ventured into in a fairy tale. Making her want to take another route. Whoever was behind was very clever.

"Typical. When you don't want to find snatchers, they are bloody everywhere, but when you want to find one, they are nowhere to be seen." She growled to herself. 

Jumping down from the branch he had been perched in, Scabior landed softly on the ground behind her, grinning to himself over what she was ranting about.

"Such a mouth on you love. It's not becoming of you. 'Ere I thought you were a proper lady." His footfalls hadn't been heard, this he was proud of, at least age and lack of practice hadn't taken away his prowess. He watched her turn, slowly, as if unsure of what she was hearing, until she faced him, her mouth slightly parted, her eyes wider than they would normally be. "'Ello beautiful."

Ice pierced her veins, that deep, accented voice cut through all the others sounds that she could hear. Where had he come from? Was he even really there? Slowly she turned as he continued to speak. Ending with her favourite saying of all. The past and the present all came crashing down around her. Here he was. Really here. After all this time, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Or beat him profusely around the head with a large tome. It was probably best that she didn't do any of those. She inspected him, looking from the top of his head all the way down, his clothes were dirty, torn, worn and old. His boots looked like they needed some serious help. His hair still looked like it could house a family or two of sparrows, with the red streak as the dividing line between them. His face had in some ways aged. Weathered was a better word for it, more lines were visible, she imagined as his life had become more difficult, running and hiding. It wasn't normally in his nature.

"I have a proposition for you." She blurted.

"Is that right?" He questioned, crossing his arms across his chest, shifting his weight onto one leg. "And do you come to me as 'Ermione Granger, or Mrs Gingertwonk, or as one of the Ministries little minions?"

She hadn't expected this, his slight hostility. It threw her off, made her want to cow down before him, explain hastily. Of all the time she had envisioned the remote possibility of a reunion, this had not been one of them. That small romantic part of her brain had thought he would embrace her, pull her too him and make demands of her lips, that only he could. Even a gentle repartee between them until they were familiar with each other again. But not this. Anything but this. And though this wasn't as she imagined, she still let the gruff coarseness of his voice wash over her. She had missed it so.

"A little of two. The first and last." She whispered, holding her gaze onto the oceanic pools of his eyes.

He decended upon her then, moving determinedly until she was backing up, feeling the pressure of his invasion into her world. She stumbled a little, not breaking his gaze as she moved and Scabior refused to reach out the help her is she fell. He kept moving, forward until he had her penned against a tree, then he dropped his arms, bracing them on either side of her.

"What is it then? This proposition, from little minion Mione." His head dipped lower, seeking out her wavering gaze. "Are you 'ere to give me a 'ead start? Tell me the Aurors are on their way? You're a little late love."

Hermiones hands clenched at her sides, she had forgotten this side of him, this side that demanded things be his way, this overtly male side to him. ~Merlin he smells good~ Shaking her head to her own thoughts, she tried to construct a way of telling just why she was here. How could she ask him to become a turncoat and help her? She had to use what little information the Ministry had gleaned.

"I need your help…" She started, her temper flaring as he muttered not interested and pushed away from the tree. "It will get you a full pardon. You can move around in public, without fear of being hunted, you do this. You can live any life you choose. You'll be free. And not in Azkaban. Or dead. For real this time." She spat at him, moving away from the tree, her chocolate eyes sparking fire. The tip of anger she felt at him deceiving her bubbling up to the surface, the need to beat him around the head with that aforementioned large tome springing to the forefront of her mind.

The vehemence of her words caught him off guard, his girl grown up some, and standing up to him that way. It gave him pause. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, judging the meaning behind her words. Was he about to be hunted like he had done so many others? Were they going to either kill him or put him back in that God forsaken prison? Could he out run them forever.

"There is more to this than you are telling me Mione, it's not out of the goodness of their 'earts they are doing this. Why?" He turned to her, his arms crossed over his broad chest once again. His bedraggled, wavy hair still tied back against the constant wind that seemed to whip its way around here, his prominent red streak clearly visible. "What aren't you telling me Mione?" He questioned, wanting to be at the bottom of the situation. Just being near her was breaking his resolve, he had wanted to stay away from her to let her live the life she should have and yet here she was seeking him out. Making it harder and harder for him to not give into the selfishness of his nature.

"I'll tell you everything. Just… not here. There is a pub on the outskirts…"

Her words were cut of as he moved with blinding speed and grabbed her, staring down into widened eyes, gauging the flare of her nostrils, the shallow breaths. Her head tilted back defiantly, only the slightest of trembles could be felt through the jacket she wore. This time she didn't resist, she pushed against his chest, trying to make him back up, move away from her when he was being this way. She wasn't going to bow down to him. Not now. 

The Snatcher didn't know whether to be furious with her, for being so defiant or if he should commend the behaviour. It appeared that five years was a long time, too long for him expect that she was the same as she had been when he last saw her. Again, unbidden the image of her on the bridge a few nights ago flashed through his mind, made him loosen his grip on her.

"A trap?" Words of such simplicity escaped him, showed only the slightest of vulnerability in him, but it was enough for her to know that the years had not been as kind to him as they had been her.

"You have my word." She told him gently. "If there is any trap I will be fighing on your side." She admitted truthfully, a condition of her acceptance of this was that they were left to it. That no one interfered. Or intervened. And that she wouldn't be casting any kind of magic on him to bind him to her side.

"We can sit, talk, have something to eat and you can have a warm bed for the night. It's all arranged."

Only the slightest of nods was his motion of acceptance. That he was going to trust her. Slowly and gently, she pushed his hands off her arms, then carefully, like one would a tempered bear, she lightly lay her hand on his and apparating them out of the forest, in front of a nearly deserted pub. Had things gone to plan, they would be the only ones there. Aside from the staff. Who would leave earlier than normal. She wanted to instil trust between them again, but if his reactions were anything to go on, this was going to be a slower process than she expected. The war had changed them all.


End file.
